CHAPTER 5

© 2010 GREG DUNAJ

5.

  

  

              The sun was blinding that day and Harry could barely look up to pose for his junior high graduation pictures in the parking lot of his Catholic school, while standing next to a white, oversized statue of the Virgin Mary. Her whiteness flared in the sun and in all the pictures she came out looking like a lick of flame next to the boy.

              First, Harry had to pose with his siblings; his two sisters, the younger one graduating from kindergarten that same day, and his brother, who cried and dripped from Harry's arms as the picture was snapped. Then he had to pose with P and M and Harry took the opportunity to screw his face up in a grimace as his older sister clicked away.

              After the graduation ceremony it was dinner at some pseudo-Chinese/Polynesian restaurant, complete with a waterfall. Mom drank something with an umbrella and Dad choked down three Reingold Extra Dry’s and Harry kept tormenting his brother by throwing fried noodles at him.

              "Thank God the girls are behaving," said Mom, as she repeatedly slapped Harry in the back of the head.

              Throughout the meal Harry's only thought was to meet with Carlo. He had been promised an adolescent version of absolute bliss and carousing by his best friend, and Harry kicked his chair leg in rapt anticipation. Patty Paplinski's younger sister Kathy was supposed to be there, waiting for Harry. To relieve his growing angst Harry threw a fried noodle at his brother. The younger boy wailed appropriately. Harry smiled, despite the slap.

              Back at home Harry kept sneaking looks out a living room window, while enduring a visit by uncles and aunts and cousins. One particularly bovine aunt, recently divorced and now armed with a false sense of self-esteem that allowed her to pour her expansive bulk into a form fitting (it had little choice) pink pant suit in an attempt to look younger and to lure prospective male suitors, fawned over Harry and hugged the boy to her milk white breasts. The chiming, metallic pendant that swayed between the mammoth breasts gouged Harry's cheek, but then afterwards proved useful as a warning bell signaling her approach to paw   the graduate.

              Even as Harry was being handed the bowling ball that was his graduation present, he spied Carlo waving at him from the now-green azaleas, a bottle of liquor in his hand. In his haste to leave, Harry dropped the bowling ball and the loud thud made his large aunt squeal and then hiss like a punctured balloon.

              Outside, Harry was summoned by his two uncles and his dad, sitting beneath a Japanese Mimosa tree. A bug zapper worked furiously in one corner of the yard. The humidity had increased and heat lightning had begun to illuminate the gathering clouds. At the far edge of the warm front, the sun glinted in a serene, dust-colored twilight. 

              Already Harry was sweating with nervous anticipation when he ran over to the where the three men were sitting in lawn chairs and swilling beers. Harry's dad rested his feet on a cooler where they kept the beers. 

              The three brothers only got their families together during holidays or special occasions like today's graduation party; all lived too far away from each other to make this a regular event. For this Harry was terribly glad, for when his   uncles and father got together their only purpose seemingly was to torment Harry. Calling him over was simply another tact to annoy the boy and to keep him away from the heavenly portals of Paplinski paradise. As Harry nervously ran over to the trio of brothers, he could tell by their smirks this was their very   intention.

              A series of circles, thought the boy as he stood over the three owlish men. Each was bald, had paunches that hid their belts and wore the same style of round glasses. The three snickered between themselves as the boy bounded up, sweating and breathing heavily. He wanted to get this over with as quickly as   possible. Kathy Paplinski was waiting for him. Incredibly though, it was relatively quick. His father simply asked what his plans were for the evening. Harry told him he was going to walk around town with friends. 

              "Well, as long as you can stagger home," he laughed. The other two snickered and then all three men simultaneously lifted their cans of Reingold to their lips.

              Harry ran off, worried that the three had something more up their collective sleeve, but by the time he reached Carlo out on the sidewalk, his only thoughts were with the night ahead.

              Carlo gave Harry grief. He jumped up and down and motioned with his bottle and scratched his head and punched Harry's shoulder as they loped down the slate sidewalks and into the gathering violet night. 

              "Robbed this from my Aunt's liquor cabinet," said Carlo as he prodded Harry in the ribs with the neck of the vodka bottle.  "Stan is grabbing some beer and we're all meeting up at the park with Diane Krenshaw, Todd Powell, Patty Paplinski and Patty's sister Kathy." 

              With that Carlo whacked Harry across the back of the head.

              "She likes you," he whooped.

              "Yeah, sure," said Harry, trying to muster up as disinterested a face as possible.

              "Then, it's over to Ralph's house for a party. Hell," he screamed, "we're free, no more nuns." In a yard somewhere, a dog barked. Carlo yelled at it to shut its mouth.    

              The boys arrived at the park, sweaty, but no less enthused, even when they discovered Stanley only brought a six pack to this teenaged tryst and already he was drinking his third can. Todd Powell, who had arrived just before Carlo and Harry, was sipping from one can and Kathy and Patty nursed one   can between them. 

              "Some party you throw Stan. Good thing I brought this vodka," said Carlo, a bit too loudly for this dark hillock in the park.

              "I did the best I could. I was lucky my old man had a date tonight. The six was all that was left."

              Carlo nestled up to Diane Krenshaw as he handed Stan his bottle of vodka and Stan and Todd took slugs from it. The thick limbed Stanley swilled the vodka with no ill effects, but Todd took too long a pull and ended up spitting out half when it went down the wrong pipe. The tall boy fell to the ground coughing   and laughing, his long, brown hair becoming entangled with twigs and leaves. Patty Paplinski dropped to the ground beside Todd and she tried to kiss him. Todd coughed once or twice in her face, but she was insistent and settled for sucking on his neck. Carlo leaned into Diane and they began to kiss. Stan seemed content to sit back and drink from the bottle of vodka. He leaned against a tree and slid down to a sitting position.

              "Hey, no more nuns, huh?" he said to Harry who welcomed the intrusion, as Kathy began to sidle closer to him. Angst and nervousness had quickly replaced Harry's lascivious thoughts about Kathy when the moment of truth finally reared her lovely head.

              "Yeah Stan. No more nuns."

              Kathy was close enough to rub Harry's arm. The boy retreated to Stan and grabbed the bottle of vodka from him for a drink. He had never tasted vodka before and at that moment he wished he was not so stupid. It felt like a hot throbbing lump going down. Harry turned his back on everyone as he fought the   urge to retch. Stan walked up to him and slapped him on the back.

              "Good for you. Grow hair on chest," said Stan in a deep voice and a grunt.

              Kathy walked up to Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder. The boy stiffened with fear and did not turn around. A softer, calmer version of her older sister, the angles of Kathy's face were less severe, her body thinner, her   manners and ways more delicately natured. It seemed Patty had received most of the crazy hormones in the Paplinski family and she was loud and brash and forever fighting thunder thighs. But, Harry had to thank the outgoing and jovial Patty. She was the one who had broken the news to Harry that her sister, Kathy, had for a long time been watching Harry watch her. Their mutual interests might never have been discovered otherwise.

              At this moment though, Harry was not very happy he had been discovered ogling Kathy whenever he had the chance. He was terribly shy. He thought of his father saying to him time and time again, “Be careful of what you wish for, for you may get what you want.”

              "I've been hoping you'd ask me out for a long time now," said Kathy, trying to grip Harry's fluttering hands, her brown eyes gazing up at him through the bangs of her blonde hair. "You wanna dance?"

              "Er," said Harry.

              "Stan, turn on the radio, please," purred Kathy.

              Stan clumsily flipped a switch on a large radio Diane Krenshaw had dragged up to the park. Death metal music immediately thudded into the kids.

              "Yeah, yeah," yelled Carlo, coming up for air.

              Harry gave a sideways glance at Kathy as she bounded over to the radio to find a softer station.

              "Thanks, Stan," she said, without a hint of anger in her voice, "I'll get it."

              The radio crackled and sputtered until she found a station that was playing the newest pop hit. It was called, "PB&J" and it was by some guy named Dedalus. That was it. No first name, just Dedalus. He was from New Jersey somewhere and he was enjoying some enormous popularity and getting a lot of   airtime for this latest paean to youthful eccentricities.

              The song was overproduced with a full orchestration behind a heavy bass line and wailing female singers accenting every stanza in a chase and shout warble. Dedalus himself was little better than a croaking frog, his voice a deep, gravelly razor-slashed growl. But, every word was clear and precise and   understandable.

              Carlo evidently liked the song well enough to pull away from the loudly moaning Diane and he pulled himself up to sit on his haunches. He patted his thigh in time with the song even as Diane took him down with a body-block and the two began giggling and rolling in the grass together.

              Harry liked the song as well and tapped his feet and when Kathy slid up against him, the two began a slow, clinging, awkward dance. Harry held her close so she could not see how nervous he was to be so close to her. His heart and loins seemed to pound in time with the beat of the music and the boy was   embarrassed by his arousal. Kathy sighed and pressed her boney hips against Harry, happy to have caused such a reaction. When the song ended Kathy pulled partly away from Harry to smile coyly at him, a glint of silver braces in a streetlamp catching Harry's eye. She pushed a hand Harry had around her lower back to her buttock and said, coarsely, "Take me."

              "Where to?" said Harry.

              Just then, the headlights of a county police car cut down this rapidly deteriorating slurp feast. The kids, squealing and shouting, "It's Cueball! It's Cueball!" scattered. They ran off to the far end of the hillock and down the Indian Trail, as it was known locally. The trail formed the border between the park and the railroad tracks and the kids ran down it for awhile, before crossing the tracks and entering into the safety of the streets of the town below. Before fleeing though, Carlo took the time to launch a few choice invectives and at least two   empty beer cans at a bald-headed county cop who emerged from his cruiser angrily shaking a large-handled flash light, but who pursued no further.

              The group paired off as they stomped down the street to the party at Ralph Navonne's house. Stan had become happily animated with the escape and now led the group by running ahead, kicking his heels and throwing forearms at streetlamps. Carlo yelled at Stan for having left the bottle of vodka behind in the park. Stan ignored Carlo as he laughed and ran in circles.

              At a busy intersection the group had to wait for a traffic light. Harry and Kathy were knotted together. Harry's arms were so entangled around Kathy he looked like a lustful octopus. It was then very natural to just lean toward her and   kiss. Her wet, soft lips were electrifying and when her tongue snaked its way into his mouth the boy exploded with passion. His underpants suddenly felt cramped and sticky. Though a worried look crossed his eyes, Kathy noticed nothing and they continued to kiss. The light changed and Todd Powell had to run back   across the street to break them up and get them to follow.

              The party at Navonne's was an ill-conceived affair from the kids’ viewpoint as it was filled with Ralph's extended family. Carlo, though, waded through the crowd and sought out his schoolmate. He found Ralph sitting sadly in a corner, a piece of brutalized cake on his lap and a young cousin poking a finger into his ear and giving him a Wet Willie. The two shook hands and Diane gave Ralph a kiss. While Stan occupied Mr. Navonne with conversation, Carlo walked Ralph out of the house.

              "Thanks, I was dead in there. All my friends saw the mess and turned right around. No one came in. My Dad didn't tell me was inviting the entire family!"

              "Shaddup," said Carlo, slapping Ralph in the back of the head. "We'll go back to my place. My aunt is working the night shift and so we got the place until midnight."

              Carlo lived across town, just a few houses away from Harry. The group shuffled along the avenue. Harry held Kathy's hand as they walked in silence. The rest of the group was animated and joked and told horror sorties about the nuns in school.

              "I hate them," yelled Patty. "One time I was just doing nothing and that stupid Sister Justine whacked me in the head. She said I was talking. I was reading."

              "You have to stop moving your lips when you read," said Carlo.

              Stan caught up with the group after a couple of blocks, clutching a wedge of cake. Large crumbs kept falling away with each lumbering step.

              "All right Stan!"

              "Yeah, Stan!"

              "Free at last."

              "What you and Dad talk about?"

              "The weather."

              Carlo leaped onto Stan's back and they fell to the pavement laughing.

              "Did not, you nut. He didn't smell your breath, did he?"

              "I kept coughing, you know, covering my mouth. Then I asked for a piece of cake. Put the whole thing in my mouth at once. You should have seen his face. Then, I asked for another one. Had crumbs falling out of my mouth and all."

              "You're a crazy man, Stan."

              "Stan, Stan, the crazy man" chanted the group of kids. 

              A police cruiser ambled up to the curb where they were roughhousing. Harry drifted to the back of the group in an attempt to hide.

              "Hey, past your bedtime kiddies," said the cop driving the car.

              "Don't worry, we're going home," said Carlo, picking himself off the sidewalk. "We're having a slumber party."

              "Well make sure you get there quickly. I don't want to see you out here again."

              The other cop glowered at them from deep inside the cruiser as his partner drove away.

              "What a dirty look!"

              "The nerve of some people."

              "Da Noive!"

              "My parents pay taxes. I can walk the streets if I want to," yelled Patty Paplinski to no particular person, though she was dangerously close to Harry's ear.

              "Come on Pat," said Harry, wiping spittle from his face. "Say it, don't spray it."

              "You just take care of my little sister," she said, rubbing Harry's face.

              "Just a year. That's all," spat Kathy.

              Patty squeezed Kathy's cheek.

              "You're such a cute baby sister."

              Carlo admonished them to hurry, for it began to drizzle.

              As they neared Harry's house Harry begged everyone to keep a low profile. He did not want his father coming out to embarrass him by dragging the boy into the house and putting a damper on the revelry. Everyone obliged and kept silent and they were led past Harry's now-darkened home by a tip-toeing Carlo.

              On the steep, wooden steps that led to Carlo's house the group waited as Carlo fumbled with his keys. Kathy and Harry began to kiss again, the boy quite proud now of his sexual prowess. Then, a car pulled up to the curb; it was Diane

Krenshaw's mother. She yelled at her daughter to come home now.

              "You could've found your keys quicker," Diane said, punching Carlo in the shoulder. "We were almost in the house," she said, pinching Carlo's arm.

              "Ow darling. It's just a case of mistaken identity. While searching for the right key I chanced to look at your face and thought I saw Venus herself...On a half shell."

              "Oh, shut up," said Diane laughing. "I'll see you tomorrow."

              Patty then looked at her watch. "Look at the time! Dad's gonna kill me if I don't get you home."

              "The hell with him," said Kathy, hugging Harry.

              "Yeah, great. When we get home you can tell him that. Mrs. Krenshaw, could you give us a ride home?"

              She pulled Kathy away from a dumbfounded Harry. 

              In a flash the five boys were standing alone on the porch. The air suddenly seemed oppressively heavy. The night sky then shuddered and the rain came.

              "I'm going home too," said Todd sadly. "I've got a baseball game tomorrow," and the lanky youth stepped from under the porch and into the warm, summer rain.

              After a moment Ralph ran after Todd.

              "This was a mistake Carlo, but we'll get together during the week. We got all summer," he yelled as he ran, his voice dying in the rain.

              Carlo gravely looked at Stan and Harry. Neither one made a move to leave.

              "...and then there were three," murmured Harry.

              "Yeah," said Carlo, turning to open the door.

              Upstairs in the two bedroom apartment Carlo shared with his aunt, the boys mixed themselves drinks of vodka and 7Up. Carlo’s aunt worked evenings as a home care nurse. She had never married, but had cared for Carlo since he was an infant.

              Harry ran into the bathroom to clean himself. He spent a long time looking in the mirror, rather proud of his sexual exploits of the evening. They hadn't gone all the way, but that didn't matter so much. He would still get a lot of mileage out of the distance he had already traveled. Harry emerged from the bathroom chipper and cocksure.

              Carlo had turned on the television to a Yankee game, but turned off the sound. He had turned on the hi-fi and the Who's "Won't Get Fooled Again," crackled through the small speakers sitting on the floor under the front windows.

              Stanley had plopped down onto a worn, threadbare chair and put his feet onto a matching hassock. He rested his glass on a lace doily and with his other hand shook his fist in time with the music. Pouring himself a drink, Harry walked in to the living room just in time for Roger Daltry to scream his heart out. All three boys screamed with Roger and Carlo leaped to his feet for greater dramatic emphasis. He bent at the waist and shook his black, curly hair as he shrieked.

              Carlo stayed on his feet as the Who song ended and was replaced by Dedalus and his "PB&J." Stanley groaned. 

              "They play these songs to death."

              "Hey, I like it," said Carlo, dancing in front of the television. "I'll give it a 75 'cause I can dance to it."

              Stan and Harry laughed. Stan gulped his drink. Harry sang along the girls as they echoed choice words in the song's stanza.

              "But this is crap," said Stan. "It's pulp. And what kind of name is Dedalus? He sounds like an asshole."

              Harry stiffened and stopped his singing. Carlo kept up his dancing, ignoring Stan's remark. Harry tried to concentrate on the Yankee game, but had trouble seeing the television through Carlo's legs.

              "You wanna give it a break, huh?"

              Carlo obliged and dropped on the couch next to Harry.

              "It sucks the girls had to leave," said Carlo, his arms resting on the back of the couch. "I'll tell you boys, I could use me some of that right about now."

              Harry laughed and felt a heat flash course through him as Carlo prodded him on his exploits with Kathy.

              "You got a bit of that touch and go, didn't you young feller?" Carlo pinched Harry's cheek. "A little game of show and smell?"

              Harry squinted his eyes, wagged his head, licked his lips and drawled, "yeah."

              "Can we turn this crap off," yelled Stanley from his comfy chair. "Who ever heard of a song about peanut butter and jelly? What kind of shit is this?"

              "Give it a break Stan willya," said Harry. "The guy's in college or something. Can you write a song any better? Hell you can't even spell your name."

              "I heard he's in high school. A senior."

              "A senior in high school? With that croak he sounds like an old fart."

              "Stan can only count to eleven if he drops his pants," said Carlo.

              "He hurt his throat. That's why he sounds that way," said Harry, not even turning around to look at Stan. 

              Stanley had a number of sheets fluttering in the wind already, but he gulped the rest of his drink.

              "Yeah, some disease of the troat," said Carlo, wagging a finger at Stan. "He got this troat condition ting."

              "No, he hurt it playing high school football. From screaming during practice. Permanently damaged it."

              Stan rose stiffly from his chair to mix another drink.

              "How come you know so much about this Dedalus? He's got a one way ticket to the island of the one hits."

              "Like Otis Redding," said Carlo.

              "And Bobby Goldsboro," seconded Stan.

              "Like the Yankees," said Harry, sullenly gesturing to the television.

              "Can we turn this off? Why would anyone want to listen to this shit? He'll die off after a week or two."

              "I bought the album," said Harry. "There's more than just one hit on it."

              "Well you're a wacko," said Stan. "Always was a wacko."

              PB&J faded out and was replaced by a heavy thudding, hard rock number. Harry leaped up and turned the volume down. Stan finished his drink before he left the kitchen table and proceeded to mix another one. It took him a couple of tries before he got the vodka into the glass.

              "Hey," said Carlo. "Turn it up, I like that song too."

              "So do I," called Stan from the kitchen.

              "I want to watch the game. I can't concentrate with the radio on so loud."

              Stan walked into the living room with his fresh drink and turned the volume back up on the radio. Over-modulating now, the music was little more than electronic screeches and buzzes.

              "Stan come on," said Carlo, jumping up to turn down the volume. "Get serious."

              "Ease up," said Stan dropping back into his chair. "It was okay to listen to that other crap loud."

              "It's not crap...."

              "You really got something for that dick-head Dedalus," said Stan, baiting.         

              "He's not a dick-head," Harry answered, shouting now.

              "You're in love with guy. You a fag or something?"

              "Fuck you," said Harry.

              "Bet you would like to."

              "Whoa," said Carlo. "This is getting out of hand boys. It's just a song. Why get into an argument about that? Stan, I got the album too, no big fuckn' deal. Although, I do think you're kinda cute."

              "Oh, shit."

              The three laughed, all happy friends again.

              "Hey, no more nuns."

              "Yeah," said Stan, "no more nuns."

              "High school is gonna be great."

              "Yeah."

              Harry mumbled in agreement, and the three boys fell into silence and watched Horace Clark strike out to end a bases loaded threat by the Yankees and end the game. Stan closed his eyes, rubbed his face and within a minute he was asleep. Harry drained his glass and with heavy-lidded eyes asked Carlo the time.

              "Dunno," he said, without turning his head from the television.

              After a few minutes of listening to Stanley’s soft snoring, Harry lifted himself up from the couch and walked into Carlo's room. There, he rummaged through Carlo's meager stack of record albums and found the Dedalus album. It was brand new, still with the plastic wrapping covering it. The title of the album was "Going My Way?" The front cover art was of a winged horse, a man astride it, soaring far above an exploding Earth. The rear side was consumed by a picture of Dedalus himself. Looking quite mature for a presumed age somewhere between high school and college student, Dedalus had a cigarette between his full lips, smoke trailing out of the frame. Stubble covered a strong chin and an earring peeked out from beneath long, black hair. His eyes were riveting. Coal black, piercing eyes captured Harry and dragged him into the picture. Deep, dark knowing eyes and Harry stared into them as if searching. The boy carried the album to a mirror hanging over Carlo's bureau and held the picture up next to his face and compared himself to Dedalus, his eyes dancing between them. Harry matched the expression by pouting his lips, jutting out his jaw and squinting his eyes until they too seemed to glint with a virulent intensity.

              Harry walked into the living room again, carrying the album.  Carlo was also quietly snoring. The radio was belching out another pretentious rock anthem. A late night movie was on the television. Harry placed the album on the turntable platter and turned off the radio. He turned the volume low and sat near to one speaker and read the lyrics off the dust cover as Dedalus growled them. They were young songs, whimsical songs, about girlfriends, about unrequited love and loneliness, about peanut butter sandwiches, about changing the world, about getting a gun to make a point with an enemy.

              The boy listened to both sides, then mixed himself another drink and then began to listen to the first side again when Carlo's aunt unlocked the door and walked into the front hall. The boy flicked the radio on the stereo quickly, leaving the record album spinning on the platter, and laid on the floor feigning sleep. Carlo's aunt removed her nurse's cap and ran fingers through her hair, barely glancing at the boys asleep in her living room. She went into the bathroom and emerged a minute later clad in a bathrobe. She walked up to Carlo on the couch and pushed his shoulder roughly, rousing him from sleep.

              "Hey wake up," she said coarsely. "Tell your friends to go home."